


Just A Little Longer

by JuliaJekyll



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But no actual Rape/Non-Con, F/F, Femslash, Girls Kissing, Manipulation, Mason is Creepy, POV Alana Bloom, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mason wants something from Alana before he'll help her, but Alana can handle anything he throws at her as long as she knows that she can go back to Margot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Little Longer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I've been thinking about writing for a while, and just finished tonight. Enjoy, and don't forget to comment/leave kudos if you enjoyed it! 
> 
> -Julia

Looking at the ravaged face of Mason Verger barely even fazes Alana anymore. She still feels a dull horror in her soul every time he meets her eyes, but that has nothing to do with his physical appearance and everything to do with who he is. There is a blackness in his heart that makes Alana's teeth hurt; a ruthlessness and a complete inability to care about anything other than his own interests and person. Alana thinks of herself as a compassionate individual—as a psychiatrist, she has to have compassion—but she believes in her heart of hearts that no one has ever deserved this kind of punishment more than Mason Verger. A part of her dearly wants to kill him; he has made her feel the full, terrifying strength of a murderous instinct she never knew she possessed, and never mind the fact that she can no longer walk without a cane or that she'd never be able to get close enough fast enough without someone interfering.

But the fact remains that she needs him. She can't pay Inspector Pazzi for Hannibal herself, and she wants Hannibal back here. She wants him punished (though she doesn't have the appetite for torture that Mason does, and though she's yet to think of exactly how, she plans to prevent Mason from keeping Hannibal in his own hands). She's examined herself as if she were her own patient many times over, and she's determined that she is angry at herself for not realizing what Hannibal was a long time ago. The clues were there; Alana knows how to read people. Why hadn't she figured it out? Why hadn't she prevented it from getting this far? 

She has to squeeze her eyes shut as she remembers the time she slept with Hannibal. Mason Verger can't seem to go a day without reminding her of that, with his little jabbing innuendos. Alana is bloody sick of it.

 _Just a little longer_ , she tells herself, over and over. She only has to endure here a little longer. Inspector Pazzi will catch Hannibal, Mason will pay him, and then Alana can have what—and who—she really wants.

She looks at her watch. It's almost time for her session with Mason. It's Thursday, which means he'll be getting his facial massage at this time. She actually rather prefers to talk to him during those massages, since he usually has his eyes closed and she doesn't have to look directly at him. She doesn't believe she can kill him, realistically speaking, but it's easier to act the part of interested, sympathetic psychiatrist when she's not totally blinded with hatred.

She heads upstairs in the elevator—stairs are difficult for her now, and naturally, the Vergers had an elevator in their home even well before Mason was paralyzed—and knocks lightly on the door where she knows Mason to be. He's a creature of habit, and she's never known him to break his routines.

“Come in, Dr. Bloom,” comes his voice from the other side of the door. Alana steels herself, then opens the door and enters the room. She gives a cool, professional smile that Mason does not see, since he is lying down with his eyes closed as his man, Cordell, rubs his forehead. Cordell nods at Alana, and Alana nods back before she takes a seat across the room from her patient.

“I heard you coming,” Mason says. His gravelly voice slurs slightly at the edges—he's obviously absorbed in the massage. “That cane of yours makes a most convenient clatter—I can always tell when you're near. How are your legs feeling, Dr. Bloom? I'd be quite interested to find out firsthand, to be honest, but for now, your testimony will have to do.”

That's another thing about Mason—he can never go more than two damned minutes without some sort of come-on. But Alana relaxes herself. “They're feeling stronger every day,” she says with a bright calmness, pointedly ignoring the rest of Mason's words. She sits back in her seat, folding her hands in her lap. “How are you today, Mr. Verger?”

“Oh, not much different.” He moans low in his throat as Cordell hits what is apparently a sensitive spot near his left ear, and then jerks his head to tell Cordell to stop. “That's enough for the moment, I think, Cordell,” he says. “I'd like to have a private word with Dr. Bloom.”

Alana freezes before she can stop herself. She doesn't consider Mason Verger a physical threat, but she loathes being alone with him, and this is a strange break with their usual protocol. She doesn't like it, but she doesn't object as Cordell wipes the massage lotion off his hands and walks out of the room. There's silence for a moment, and then she has to ask: “Is something wrong, Mr. Verger?”

“I haven't wired Inspector Pazzi his money yet.” Mason is still lying back, unmoving, as if deep in thought.

Alana pauses. “Why not?” She sees Mason's eyes open. “Come here, Dr. Bloom,” he says.

Feeling like she's moving in a fog, Alana reaches for her cane and stands up. Leaning on it, she limps over to the massage chair and looks down into Mason Verger's ruined visage. He regards her with his pale blue eyes—deceptively beautiful windows to a hideous, irreparably marred soul—and does the odd facial stretch that passes for a smile on his distorted features. “You want me to send the money,” he says, a statement.

Alana draws her eyebrows together in confusion. “I want him to catch Hannibal.”

“Which he won't do without the money. If I don't pay Pazzi, your Casanova stays in his villa doing whatever he jolly well pleases.”

Alana still isn't sure where Mason is going with this. “Yes,” she agrees, showing that she understands and ignoring the implication about her now non-existent relationship with Hannibal.

“Well, I want you to do something for me before I get things moving,” Mason continues.

“Oh?” It's a struggle to keep her voice from trembling. She has a feeling she knows where this is headed now, and it's a sick feeling.

“You serviced a cannibal, after all,” Mason says, a taunt in his voice. “Surely you could do the same for me. How about it, Dr. Bloom? It's a pity neither of our legs work well anymore—that would complicate a mutual act, I think--but perhaps you could at least give me a taste. I may have lost my lips, but my tongue is still quite intact, I assure you.”

Alana swallows. “I don't deal in sexual favors,” she says coldly.

“No? Well then.” Mason sighs. “Alas, Hannibal Lecter has made it impossible for me to take you, or I would.” He shakes his head as best he can while lying down, clicking his tongue. Alana feels bile begin to climb up her throat and swallows hard as Mason continues to think. “I could have Cordell do it.” He turns his head back in your direction. “How would you like that, Dr. Bloom?”

Alana gulps again. “I wouldn't,” she says honestly. Her voice comes out smaller than she wants it to. Mason continues to think for a moment. Alana seriously considers leaving the room, but she knows that will only make it worse for her in the long run, so she waits, curling her toes in her shoes, digging her fingernails into her palms. Nervous. Afraid. Is this the kind of feeling Margot lives with, or...?

“A kiss, then,” Mason says decisively. “And I'm being very generous, Dr. Bloom. Uncharacteristically so.”

Alana nearly stumbles in relief. She can handle a kiss. It won't be enjoyable, and she might have to go and be sick afterwards, but it'll be over quickly, and then, she'll be able to go back to where she really wants to be and forget about it. And so, she clears her throat. “Very well. We have a deal, Mr. Verger.”

_Just a little longer._

She approaches slowly. Revulsion crawls in the pit of her stomach, in the very core of her being, as she leans over Mason Verger. Slowly, she inclines her head and presses her lips to the place where his used to be. He kisses her with a movement that borders on tenderness, but the sensation is strange, because of course he has no real lips to speak of, and it feels incredibly, horrifyingly wrong.

Alana forces herself to kiss back, thinking determinedly of a very different mouth... And then she feels a sharp, harsh pain as he bites her, taking a nice sliver of skin from the surface of her lip. Alana tastes her own blood on her tongue.

Mason is laughing—cackling, almost. “Ahh, Dr. Bloom,” he says through guffaws, “you do taste lovely. Oh, how right I was.” He laughs again, licking his chops. “Well, there it is. That was the deal. I'll send the money this afternoon. 'Til later, my dear.” He's still laughing, the sound reverberating in Alana's ears, as she nearly runs out of the room and slams the door behind her. She leans against the wall, panting and holding her free hand against her lip, utterly revolted.

She needs to get away.

* * *

 

It takes nearly twenty minutes for her to reach Margot's suite, but when she does, she nearly pounds down the door. Her face is streaked with tears, her lower lip still tender from Mason's bite. Her hair is dishevled, and she does not care. All she cares about is-

“Alana!” Margot yanks her through the door before Alana even has a chance to look at her properly and steers her over to the couch nearest the door, sitting her down before kneeling in front of her and beginning to examine her face. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says under her breath, touching Alana's face, wiping the tears away with her hands, cradling Alana's jaw. “Oh, my love. What did he do to you?”

Alana breaks into sobs, and Margot shifts gracefully onto the couch to hold her. Alana buries her face in her lover's shoulder, clutching her, never wanting to let her go. “I kissed him,” she sobs. “He told me to, for the money to Pazzi. I'm sorry, Margot; forgive me, please forgive me...”

“Darling.” Margot gently pushes Alana away and reaches out to lift her face. “Look at me, my beautiful one.” Alana does, and Margot leans forward. Slowly, her soft lips kiss the tears from Alana's face. “My darling, there's nothing to forgive. It's alright, do you hear me?”

Alana feels such a wave of relief mixed with love that it takes her breath away. She clutches Margot's hands. “I love you,” she tells her partner, dropping her hands to touch her beautiful face.

“And I you.” Margot kisses Alana's forehead tenderly—real tenderness, not a pale imitation. “Just a little longer,” she whispers.

Alana's eyes fill with tears again, but they're of a much different variety this time.“Kiss me, Margot,” she says softly. “Get him off me.”

“Gladly.” Margot smiles, and then she claims Alana's lips with hers. Alana relaxes into the kiss, winding her arms around her lover. Her heart fills with gratitude for this woman and determination to be with her no matter what, as soon as all this is over.

Just a little longer.


End file.
